Painting the Silence
by Feral Phoenix
Summary: Obviously you have to get out of this clever trap you're in, but what are you supposed to do when your only companion is completely helpless, in a state of mindless panic, and doesn't know how to trust anyone anymore?  Pregame, light GulcasaxNessiah.
1. The Hand of Fate

Painting the Silence

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Yggdra Union. This story is mine, though, so don't steal or I will be forced to let my homicidal muses hurt you. 'Kay? 'Kay. Glad everyone understands.

It was a pale, thin dawn that day—pale, thin, and cold. The sky above the mountains was hazed pastel pink and gold, with lilac clouds strewn liberally through the air. The chill wasn't strong enough that one's breath would haze white in the air, but it had enough bite to elicit a shiver every now and then from anyone outdoors.

The company making its way up the mountainside most certainly wasn't enjoying the weather. They'd been traveling through most of the night and hadn't stopped to take a break for a while, the trail was a harsh and unforgiving one, and they were forced to stay on constant alert for enemy attacks.

They were, after all, fairly far into hostile territory.

But they were here for a very good reason—there was something they had to reclaim, and a vital rite of passage one of their number had to fulfill.

The Imperial Army was already fairly small, but it had been forced to divide its forces still further for the sake of their current venture. The mountain tribes had always been hostile to Bronquia, ever since its founding as an independent country, and those who needed to come this way could not do so without protection. Even so, the castle and the capital city of Flarewerk could not be left undefended. Too many marauding bandits and units of the old army still roamed the countryside, and they would happily attack the civilians at the heart of the country for their loyalty.

And there was nothing the Imperial Army could do about it. They'd proved that in the two months they'd spent running themselves ragged in an attempt to curtail this deplorable rise in banditry. Even with all their efforts, no targets had been spared, only a few of the perpetrators had been caught, and only one life had been saved. Their forces were just spread too thin, and recruiting was no easy task: Not everyone had as much faith in the old blood as the Special Forces' young leader or the liberal-minded witch who'd replaced the traitorous old Magister. While the people of Bronquia were plenty happy that they were one step closer to being out from under Fantasinia's thumb now that their old Emperor was dead, it was hard for those who had not been there to see the events of the short but brutal coup d'état to believe in their new sovereign.

Everyone knew that yes, Gulcasa was part of the old blood—in other words, Brongaa's line—and that he was a direct descendant of Emperor Karza, the last member of his family to rule before the most recent war with Fantasinia had put his predecessor on the Dragon Throne. His scarlet hair, golden eyes, and pointed ears proved that much. But while he was seen as a savior to the people of Flarewerk, when his other subjects looked at him, they saw a nineteen-year-old upstart with a ragged following who was clearly struggling for control of his own country. To accomplish anything, he would need the faith of his people, and Bronquia would not rally behind him like this.

Gulcasa needed a miracle. Or rather, he needed to prove himself in his country's eyes.

The only way to do that now was to reclaim the ancient relic his people had lost long ago… their sovereign star. A proof of authority none in their land could deny.

The lost Bronquian crown.

From the castle records, Gulcasa and his men knew what they were looking for: a simple circlet of black steel, with a dragon's head wrought at the center, inlaid with an opalescent gem the color of fire. Much like the sigils of sovereignty in other nations, particularly the Fantasinian Miracle Tiara, the crown was a powerful magical artifact that bound the wearer irrevocably to Bronquia's fate. Only those of Brongaa's blood could wear it. Even some time before it had been lost in a war with the northern tribes, its proper name had been forgotten, and it was now known simply as the "Crown of Thorns".

Without the Crown of Thorns, Gulcasa would not be able to rule his own people, let alone free them from Fantasinia's control. So he'd split his army's forces and was leading this desperate mission into the mountains, in hopes that he would once more wrest an impossible victory out of the jaws of impending disaster. He'd left Flarewerk in the care of his foster father Baldus, the army's defensive specialist, as well as the assassins of the Special Forces and the witches led by the new Magister, Eudy. Along with his personal knights, accompanying him were his sisters Luciana, Aegina, and Emilia… and one other.

The punishing trail evened out before the Imperial Army, leading onto a wide overhang before splitting into twin tracks north and east—over and around the peak they were climbing. As his forces spilled onto even ground, Gulcasa signaled them to take a break.

The men spread out, sat down and stretched, and spoke to one another in low voices, taking out personal rations and relaxing as much as they could.

The young Emperor himself dismounted from his dragon and leaned against the cliff face beside the mouth of a cave leading into the mountainside with a sigh, closing his eyes.

"I still don't understand why you insisted on wearing _those _ratty old things," said a disapproving female voice to his right. "Crown or no, you're the Emperor now. You have a right to wear the battle armor that's been passed down from ancient times."

Gulcasa opened one eye to give Luciana a disdainful look. "You were there when Baldus insisted I try it on. I _know _it's a symbol of my office, or that it's supposed to be, but come on. No one, especially not the people we're dealing with here, is going to be impressed by my wearing a suit of armor that's entirely too big for me."

Luciana scowled at him. "You've grown at least an inch since then," she reminded him. "It's going to fit you better and better with each passing _day."_

"It's _still _not any use in a fight yet. And I don't grow _that _fast, thank you very much." He closed his eyes, sighed, and rested his head back against the uneven stone behind him. Sure, maybe they didn't look like much, but his leathers and the chain mail beneath them had served him well throughout the rebellion, and since they fit much better than the traditional armor he was _supposed _to be wearing, he was going to continue using them for as long as he could.

Even though he couldn't see her, he knew Luciana was probably giving him the _look. _"You need to stop acting like a common soldier and remember who and what you are now."

"Leave me alone, Luciana." Did she _always _have to nag him like this? He was desperately tired and wanted to use this time to gather back all the strength he could; he'd need it on the next climb. It was hard to do that and argue with someone at the same time.

Luciana sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just…" She hesitated. "All this lack of cover is making me nervous. And I don't see why we had to bring _him _along for this."

Gulcasa opened his eyes and fixed his sister with a glare. "As I have told you, _repeatedly, _there is absolutely no harm in including him if he wants to come. With Eudy back at the castle, he's the only mage we've got. And your jealous attitude is getting annoying. I don't want it brought up again while we're on this little excursion, understand?"

Luciana rolled her eyes at him and stalked off.

Gulcasa sighed despairingly and turned towards the strangest member of his company.

Nessiah was standing off by himself, facing the horizon as if examining how far they'd come. All through the trek, Gulcasa hadn't heard a word of complaint out of him about the difficulty of the trail or the punishing pace the army had set, but he knew that the mage was having trouble. Even now, Gulcasa could see the sheen of sweat on the V of bare skin at his chest where his overrobe hung open. But as always, Nessiah chose to suffer in silence.

In addition to his already frail constitution (he was a _mage, _and a fairly typical one in that he was a tiny little thing with only the bare minimum in physical strength) and the weight of the chains that bound him, Gulcasa knew that Nessiah still hadn't completely recovered from the savage beating he'd taken at the hands of the country's overabundance of bandits. The Emperor himself had run into Nessiah lying half-dead on the steps of a pillaged shrine on one of his patrols, and from what the doctors and healers had told him, he'd happened to pass by just in time to save Nessiah's life. Not even the strongest of men could've healed from injuries like that in just a month, and so Gulcasa had to wonder what exactly Nessiah was thinking, having volunteered for something like this.

While Gulcasa watched him, Nessiah turned away from the view of the country they'd left behind and walked up to the cave in the rock face with a pensive expression. "…Strange…"

"…What is?" Gulcasa asked, looking over at him.

"I can feel some kind of latent power coming from this cave—traces of magic I'm not entirely familiar with. It feels like someone's either done a working here recently, or laid some kind of spell on the place. …Or…"

"…Or…?" Gulcasa prompted, standing up and walking over to peer into the darkness along with Nessiah, trying to discern what was so interesting about the cave.

"Or this could be it—the place where they keep the crown. I doubt it, though. Artifacts have a different feeling than this." Nessiah ventured a few steps forward, holding a hand out before him. "Yes, it's _very _strange. Among other things, they've put a dampening spell on the walls—interferes with other mages' workings. _Very _odd. What are they trying to hide?"

Gulcasa shrugged one shoulder. "Looks like a pretty deep cave. If they're trying to hide something important, this might be the place to do it. It might even go all the way through the mountain, for all we know."

"Peculiar." Nessiah went a few more steps in, veering off to the side in order to run his fingertips along the stone. "This could do with a little investigation…"

As Nessiah's palms began to glow, continuing to pass along the cave wall, Gulcasa had a strange feeling, as though he'd heard or seen something click.

Something started to rumble off in the distance.

"Nessiah, do you hear—?" Gulcasa tensed, looking around in case enemies were nearby.

Nessiah cursed under his breath and stepped back from the wall. "Sounds like there were security measures on this place… but how could we have tripped them so easily…?"

The rumbling noise got louder, followed by something grating on stone. A few soldiers looked up from their business with frowns.

A large boulder hit the ground nearby, making Gulcasa jump and whirl around. As he looked up warily, he saw that several more stones were starting to rattle down the sharp slope.

_"Shit!" _He stared at Nessiah. "What did you _do?!"_

_"Me?!" _Nessiah demanded incredulously. "I didn't do anything!"

"Well, I certainly—" Gulcasa cut himself off as he saw something large and heavy-looking starting to slide from the cave ceiling.

He didn't think. There wasn't any time for him to think. He just launched forward with a yell, tackling Nessiah and shoving him safely out of the way and sending them both tumbling into the cave. Out of the reach of the rockslide, the two of them looked up just in time to see the solid stone trap door grate closed and the sliver of light beneath it vanish in a great tumble of stone.

And then there was nothing but darkness.

:TBC:


	2. Our Naked Fears

Painting the Silence

See disclaimer in part one

Once the rumbling had stopped, Gulcasa opened his eyes and waited for them to adjust to the near-absolute darkness. It took a moment, but eventually he was able to make out the cave walls and ceiling and his and Nessiah's tightly curled bodies, prostrate on the hard stone. He glanced over his shoulder at the sealed entrance, noting that a few tiny rays of light were filtering from the crack beneath the trapped door wherever there was a gap between the boulders on the other side.

His thoughtless tackle-and-dive had not been gentle, but as Gulcasa eased himself up on his hands and knees, he noted that his battered leather armor had taken most of the damage—a few scuffs here and there, but he himself was unhurt. Nessiah was still lying next to him, as if expecting another cave-in.

"Hey…" Gulcasa laid a hand on Nessiah's shoulder a bit worriedly, giving him a gentle shake. "Are you alright? Looks like it's over now; it should be safe to sit up."

As Gulcasa stood and frowned at the door, Nessiah did, very slowly. As he hadn't been wearing protective gear, his hands and forearms were scraped raw and bloody, and his legs probably were too. Still, with that trap, he was lucky it wasn't anything worse.

Leaving his companion where he sat, Gulcasa walked over to the sealed entryway, slamming it with the side of his fist. "Damn, it won't budge at all… looks like this sliding panel thing is solid stone, too. HEY!" He raised his voice, and kicked the rock face. "Can anyone hear me out there?!"

He waited, but no answer came. With a disgusted sigh, Gulcasa turned around to squint down the long tunnel ahead.

"Well, this is just _wonderful. _There'd just _better _be another exit. It would be a pain in the ass to have to wait for everyone to dig us out." So saying, he removed his gauntlet, scowling at Nessiah all the while. "That was _brilliant _back there, by the way," he said sarcastically. "Really, I was under the impression that you were a little bit better at the whole magic thing than _that. _Setting off a trap like this… I guess I overestimated you."

"I'm telling you, _this was not my fault," _Nessiah said. His voice was strained and very small; he hadn't turned to face Gulcasa and was sitting in the same spot with his shoulders hunched. "I didn't do anything that possibly could've set off a trap like this."

_"Somebody _did, and that somebody wasn't me," Gulcasa reminded him. "In case you've forgotten, you're the only one here who can use magic. Honestly. We're stuck here until we find a way out or they get us out; there's no point in not owning up."

_"I didn't do anything," _Nessiah hissed.

"Whatever." Gulcasa licked his palm and held it up, waiting. "…There! I can feel a breeze coming from the other side. I knew there had to be another exit. Come on—I don't feel like waiting for the others to figure out what they're supposed to be doing." And so saying, he walked past Nessiah, heading for the other end of the cave.

At about the same time the lack of footsteps behind Gulcasa told him he wasn't being followed and he turned around, Nessiah called out. "Wait—you can't—don't just—"

There was a strange note of panic in Nessiah's voice, bordering on hysteria. Gulcasa looked at him for a moment, then walked back towards him. Maybe it was just that strange tone, or the fact that Nessiah hadn't yet moved, but he looked so shaken that Gulcasa had to start worrying.

"Are you really alright?" he asked frankly, kneeling down and looking his companion over. "Were you hurt? It's fine, it's safe to stand…"

"Gulcasa," Nessiah said in that same small, tight voice with that same slightly hysterical note, "there are dampening spells all over this place."

"So? They're not hurting us, they just suppress magic. Come on—we're wasting time. We have to get moving, or—"

"Don't you understand?" Nessiah demanded, and his voice cracked as he spoke the words. It was only then that Gulcasa realized there was a faint jangle of metal in the air and saw what it meant: Nessiah was shaking. "All magic is suppressed. _All _magic. I can't—Gulcasa, I can't…"

Abruptly, it dawned on him.

"Oh, shit," Gulcasa murmured. "No… you don't mean the magic you use to _see…?"_

"I can't—I don't—" Nessiah shook his head, trembling violently. "Everything's black and—it's just like back then—and… and I can't tell where you are and… and I can't feel _anything _and, and… I can't… I can't…"

In each pause in the terrified confession, Nessiah took a deep, shuddering breath, his voice got fainter, and his shaking got worse. Alarmed, Gulcasa reached out and put his hands on Nessiah's shoulders to steady him.

"Okay—okay, just—just try to calm down and breathe," Gulcasa told him. "If you keep hyperventilating you're going to faint. I'm right here. Nothing bad's going to happen to you. Once we get out of here, you'll be fine." _Won't you? _"Just take it easy."

Nessiah shivered and slumped forward, resting his forehead against Gulcasa's leather breastplate. "…I feel sick…"

Gulcasa sighed and patted his companion's shoulder. "That's what happens when you take in too much air. Just stay still for a minute. Try to stay calm. You won't feel so dizzy then." As he watched Nessiah fighting to get his breathing under control, curled tensely against the curve of his own body, he made a face and sighed again. "And… I'm sorry. I didn't realize… I shouldn't have gotten mad at you."

"…………" Nessiah hunched his shoulders, tucking his legs to his chest and loosely winding his hands into Gulcasa's chain mail. "…just shut up…"

It took Gulcasa a moment to realize why in the world Nessiah was clinging to him—from his experience, usually the mage disliked human contact and would even stay to the edge of crowds to avoid too much invasion into his personal space. But once he thought about it, it made a lot more sense.

The closest thing to blindness he himself had ever experienced was a session or two of blindfolded weapons training. As soon as the blindfold had been put over his face, the world had become a lot less solid, a lot more uncertain. He'd _thought _he'd known where things were, but there was no way for him to know for sure. There was a lot of disorientation involved in not being able to see, and a lot of fear. Right now, Nessiah was probably trying to reassure himself with closeness to the most solid and stable thing near him, which just so happened to be Gulcasa.

"Just relax," Gulcasa repeated, leaning in to speak the words softly. "I won't leave you on your own here."

Nessiah didn't respond. He'd raised his head and uncurled a little, although his grip on Gulcasa's mail was as tight as ever, and was taking long, measured breaths that shifted his chest dramatically. He was still shaking, and in the low light Gulcasa could just see the sweat on his face. Apparently, Nessiah was beating back the fear with everything he had, and it was a pitched battle.

Gulcasa sighed, and remembered something that Baldus had told him in training once. He hesitated for a moment, then put an arm around Nessiah's thin shoulders and leaned down, putting his lips almost to the blind mage's forehead. "Just listen," he whispered. "I want you to try this. I think it may help."

"Anything," Nessiah pleaded in a voice that was half croak and half groan.

"You're wasting your energy fighting this, and making it worse, like—like someone who can't swim thrashing around trying to stay above water. Just let the panic in for a minute or two. Before you can deal with it, set it aside, you have to feel it. Better now than later… it's just you and me here. No one'll think worse of you."

Nessiah didn't reply, but Gulcasa felt his hands tremble just slightly before his companion bowed his head and let out a thin sob.

Gulcasa wanted to say something, but he wasn't sure what he _could _say. How could you possibly comfort somebody going through something like this? The young Emperor did not know how Nessiah had lost his sight, but he'd seen the ugly, twisted scars that sealed the mage's eyes shut and knew that it had to have been traumatic for more than one reason. This helplessness he suffered now was so unexpected and so _absolute _that it had to remind him of that time, however.

Were there even words that could make something like that better? Gulcasa doubted it. So he just kept his mouth shut.

As he sat in the near-darkness with Nessiah clinging to him, his breathing sharp and jagged and punctuated with the kinds of sobs that twisted at your heart, he knew that there was next to nothing he could do to help. That wasn't a feeling Gulcasa liked, and what frustrated him even _more _was the sudden realization that a lot of it probably stemmed from his lack of knowledge about Nessiah's past. Although he'd been with the people of Flarewerk for an entire month now, he hadn't spoken about himself at all or even given any information about himself other than his name. It hit Gulcasa very hard right then that despite the time they'd spent together, he and Nessiah were still as good as perfect strangers.

Getting out of this place had seemed so simple only a few minutes ago—just a matter of walking to where this tunnel opened up on the other side of the mountain. How in the world had that task become something so _impossible _in so short a time?

Nessiah took a few shaky deep breaths and sat up a little, sighing. What Gulcasa could see of his face was covered in tearstains that looked alarmingly dark. Gently, he reached out and wiped the marks away, then squinted at his hand in the low light, his stomach tightening at what he saw. _Blood. God… his eyes must be a lot worse than I ever imagined._

"What now?" Nessiah asked, his voice blunted by the tears he'd shed.

"Well, there are only two things we _can _do," Gulcasa replied. "One, we can wait to see if the others will get through there or find another entrance. It might take a long time, and if this was a trap set up, then they might even be fighting right now, which will make it take a lot longer. And I don't know how long you can stand this; you're in pretty bad shape, and even without the dampening spells everywhere, you need fresh air. It'll make you feel a lot better."

"And?" Nessiah prompted.

"We can go on ahead and find the other exit ourselves, then get back around to the others. Given my druthers, that's what I'd do. Sitting here for God knows how long and waiting for my sisters to figure out this door thing isn't a fun prospect, and I am dead sure that on the other end of this tunnel is open air. But that's going to ask a lot of you."

"…………" Nessiah just sat there, apparently turning it over in his mind.

"I do want to get you out of here as soon as humanly possible. But that means you're going to have to trust me, and that… might be asking a lot. Maybe too much. Just… know that those are the only things we can do."

"Trust… but…" Nessiah's voice had taken on that panicky note again.

Gulcasa closed his eyes and let out a very terse sigh, praying that his companion wasn't going to flip out again. _"Please, _Nessiah. There's only one path, and I'm not going to let go of you once in all that way. There's not much time we can waste. Please. Just try, alright?"

There was a very long silence.

Gulcasa was just about ready to tell Nessiah to forget it when one of the mage's small hands unclenched from his mail and drifted down his arm to his own hand, clutching it tightly and almost desperately.

"Don't…" he started to say, but fell silent, his throat no doubt aching from those bitter, half-stifled sobs.

"I won't let you down," Gulcasa replied, relieved. "Come on… let's go."

:TBC:


	3. My Faith in You

Painting the Silence

See disclaimer in part one

In the darkness, their footsteps echoed like explosions.

Nessiah kept walking forward because he didn't know what else to do. His chest was tight with the paranoia that came from being surrounded by the absolute unknown; just breathing was a vicious battle. As if trying to compensate for the sudden lack of one sense, all his others had sharpened to a painful degree—every sound cut through the backs of his ears and then straight down his spine, spreading discomfort along the scars where his wings had once been, the stale scent of the cave air was choking, and the touch of Gulcasa's hand and arm against his (not to mention his own badly battered clothes) _ached _against his raw skin. Still, he hung on despite the pain. Touch was vital now. Touch kept him sane.

The blackness and the silence—other than their footsteps' unholy volume—were powerful enough to crush Nessiah. _Gods. _He thought it with the same vehemence humans used to call upon the demons they despised in their bitterest oaths. _I can't do this, I can't breathe._

"Uh, Nessiah…" Gulcasa's voice cut through the waves of panic, splitting them neatly and shrouding Nessiah in temporary relief. "Do you have to cling like that…? We'll probably trip…"

In response, Nessiah stubbornly hung on tighter, pressing his cheek against Gulcasa's shoulder. They were walking hand in hand, with Nessiah leaning against Gulcasa's side, his right arm crossing his body to curl around Gulcasa's bicep.

Gulcasa sighed, an aggravated but defeated sound. "Okay, _okay. _I just thought I'd _ask."_

They walked on, and that panic inched closer. Nessiah bit his lip, then realized, and took a deep breath.

"Gulcasa…"

"Hm? What is it?"

"Do me a favor?" Damn it, his voice was shaking. How pathetic _was _he? "Just… talk to me, alright?"

"Talk to you?" Gulcasa sounded baffled. "How will that help?"

"Please. I—I can't take this, this _silence." _Nessiah took another, deeper breath, trying to still his violent pulse to a more reasonable level. "It hurts. I can't deal with this. I don't want to—panic again." The words tasted bitter as he said them. "It doesn't matter what about. Just say anything. As long as it's not _silent…"_

"…Got it," Gulcasa replied through the absolute darkness. He was quiet for a moment, then he began to speak, his words slow and measured.

"Well… my family was in hiding long before I was born…"

At first, Nessiah didn't even listen to the words themselves. Gulcasa's voice was charm enough in itself to dispel the heavy waves of terror that had threatened to swamp his traitorous body. He listened to its cadence, first hesitant and meticulous and almost doubtful, then slowly growing more animated, latching onto the sound in an absent way like a child seeking comfort in a favorite blanket. However, once the fear was enough at bay that Nessiah had begun to feel calm but alert once more, once he could breathe without his ribs clutching tight against his lungs and his scars searing whenever his body shifted even slightly, the meanings of Gulcasa's words began to filter into his mind. Nessiah wasn't just clutching onto the voice through the darkness, wasn't just hearing anymore. He was _listening _now.

"…so really, I never knew my biological mother. And I don't remember any of my life before my father remarried. I grew up treating Emilia's mother like she was my own."

Gulcasa was talking about himself, Nessiah realized. About his past, his childhood. As the young Emperor went on, Nessiah's curiosity turned to avid fascination. As they walked, he listened and learned what it was to grow up while always having to hide one's birth from everyone outside one's immediate family. It had to have been difficult—Nessiah knew that the markers of Brongaa's lineage were plentiful and obvious—and yet Gulcasa had made it for years, until the murders of his parents, when he and his three sisters had been adopted by Baldus.

Listening to this, Nessiah almost didn't have to see. Gulcasa's words shaped images in his mind—a face, a locale, the colors of emotions. Listening to this, Nessiah was able to etch out a far clearer picture of his chosen ally than he supposed he could've gotten in an entire year of his normal mode of living around people. It was amazing.

…It was almost _intoxicating._

"…and I suppose that brings us to around now," Gulcasa finished. He was silent for a moment; then he hastily added, "Sorry to bore you with my personal history and everything…"

"It wasn't boring at all," Nessiah assured him, feeling the beginnings of a smile curve his lips slightly, softly. And then, before he could even stop himself, he started to speak, to say things he'd never told a mortal being and had never wanted to. "Despite your position, it sounds almost… enviable, at times. Your family, I mean. From what you've said, it's obvious that you're very close, very tight-knit. I got a sense of… love, of belonging, from those words. I really do envy that. It's something I never had, myself…"

"…What do you mean?"

The rational, sane part of Nessiah, the part that usually kept him on track with his plans, was demanding shrilly in a back corner of his mind if he'd somehow misplaced his sanity. The rest of him went right on talking. "I was orphaned at a very young age—far too young to remember anything about my biological family. I grew up around several other children whose familial situations resembled mine. Most of them, I had very little connection to… I was always considered a bit of a freak… but there were some who were like siblings to me. We grew up together as close as orphans could, but we knew that we were just substituting each other for family.

"In some ways, that made our bond fiercer. But in others…" He sighed. "Maybe things… wouldn't have become so twisted, so broken if it hadn't been. We were an ambitious bunch of barely-fledged mages. That was when…"

He cut himself off very suddenly, very deliberately. What was he _saying? _He'd almost confessed that that was when he and the others had been selected to become the gods' next Magi!

Nessiah could sense Gulcasa's attentiveness and his sympathy, but he highly doubted that he would still be there to help and support him, or even to shelter him after this temporary blindness ended, if he let it slip that he was actually a fallen angel. He couldn't forget so easily to watch what he said.

"Well… that was… when the things happened… to make me the way I am now," Nessiah finished lamely. "I can't… really talk about it, but…"

"It's alright," Gulcasa answered, sounding thoughtful. "I… think I'm starting to understand some things about you better. But, you know…"

Nessiah felt Gulcasa squeeze his hand. His chest jolted a little, and he felt himself blush through the darkness.

"You have a home now, a family. I said it to you when you first woke up with us, and I meant it. For better or worse, Bronquia has taken you in. You're one of us now, and you always will be."

"…ha…" Smiling a little sadly, Nessiah leaned against Gulcasa's shoulder. For both their sakes, he hoped desperately and painfully that the untruth behind Gulcasa's pledge wouldn't be exposed for a long, long time.

There was a long silence. Nessiah could feel anxiety gathering near him like it was starting to nip at his ankles.

"Please don't stop there," he said softly. "I want to hear more… more about the revolution… about you, and about your sisters and friends… I want to remember what it is to fight for something because you believe in it with all your heart… paint the silence for me just a little longer."

There was a smile in Gulcasa's voice as he replied. "If you're sure you won't get bored."

Nessiah gave Gulcasa's arm a light squeeze. "Never."

"Alright… well, at first it…" Gulcasa's voice trailed off then, and he slowed their pace, stopping in only a few more steps. "Well, damn it. It's just one thing after another, isn't it?"

Nessiah loosened his grip a bit, tilting his face up towards Gulcasa, the instinct to look up at him too powerful to ignore. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"It's just…" He could feel Gulcasa tensing up, hear him hesitate, perhaps thinking of the best way to say the words. "The path ahead, it's… it's split. There are _two_ ways forward, not one. And right off the top of my head, I've got no idea which one we're supposed to take."

---

Gulcasa watched Nessiah a little worriedly, not sure whether the mage would break down again in a panic with this new layer of uncertainty. Nessiah just stood there silently, as if trying to absorb the news without an episode.

"You can't—test the air again, or—?" Nessiah asked, worry crystalline in his voice.

"I could try, but…" Gulcasa sighed, raking his free hand through his hair. "Since there are two paths it'll get confused. Who knows? They might actually _both _lead out, just to different parts of the mountain. All we can really do is pick one and see."

Nessiah was taking deep, measured breaths again, starting to tremble. _Crap. _Gulcasa knew just how slim of a margin he'd managed to grab Nessiah's sensibility by the last time. He might not be able to do it now. This was _all _they needed.

However, Nessiah turned back towards Gulcasa with fresh, bloody lines of tears on his face and flung himself through what to him was absolute darkness, clinging to Gulcasa hard.

"W-wha…?"

"This is hard for me. _Very _hard," Nessiah whispered, and his voice was on the edge of cracking. "I just… want to be out of here… I want to be out of this place as soon as possible. I have no choice. I can't find my way on my own. I'll try… I'll… I'll follow you. For as far as… I can. Just… please." His voice got smaller, and finally broke. "Don't… let me go, Gulcasa…"

Something about the sheer agonized effort to trust in those words cut straight to Gulcasa's heart, and he automatically put his arms around Nessiah's shoulders. "It's alright," he murmured. "I've got you. We're both going to be fine… I promise."

With that, he turned towards the openings, each with a hint of brightness at the end.

"I think…" Gulcasa hesitated, drew in a deep breath, and released it. "Left."

They turned and walked down the path, holding tight to each other, Nessiah barely half a step behind him.

:TBC:


	4. Linked Chains

Painting the Silence

See disclaimer in part one

Gulcasa didn't think he'd ever had a one-sided conversation that had lasted this long. His throat was starting to hurt from all the talking he'd done, but as apparently his voice was all that was keeping panic at bay for Nessiah, what else _could _he do?

For his part, he was fairly sure that Nessiah was listening attentively. It was hard to tell at times, but just when he started to think his silent companion was zoning out and just letting the sound of his voice wash away the fear, Nessiah would interrupt him with a thoughtful question or a remark on the proceedings.

It was strange, talking about himself like this—aside from the initial announcement to the public about who he was and where he'd been while the last emperor had been tyrannizing the countryside, Gulcasa had never really had to go back and explain his life story for anyone. Nessiah assured him that it wasn't boring, and Gulcasa thought that if this was helping Nessiah understand him better, then it was a good thing…

He'd just finished telling the little mage about one of the trickier battles to reclaim Flarewerk when Nessiah stopped walking, standing stock still and shivering slightly, his fingers clamping down hard on Gulcasa's hand.

"What is it?" In the half-light of the cave, Gulcasa couldn't be sure, but Nessiah seemed even paler than usual, and he was biting his lip.

"This—I'm getting this strange feeling—" Nessiah drew in a shallow breath, shuddered, and put his free hand to his belly, fisting it on his robes. "…I feel sick…"

After an entire lifetime of helping to raise three younger sisters and pitching in liberally whenever they were ill, Gulcasa's reaction had become reflex: In about as much time as it took for his eyes to widen and his own stomach to clutch in sympathy, he'd scooped Nessiah up in his arms, knelt down in a gentle motion, and settled the shivering mage against the cave wall, sitting him down and putting steadying hands on his shoulders.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asked softly, looking at Nessiah intently.

"—I don't know." Nessiah curled up a little more, still clinging tightly to Gulcasa's arm. "I just—I've started to feel bad, very bad."

"You're not really sick, are you?" _Please, please, God. Do not throw up._

"…I don't—think so. Even now, I can sense—there's powerful magic near here. Very powerful. It's making me—nauseous."

Gulcasa blinked at him, surprised. "…You can feel something like that, even with your magic cut off by the dampening spells? I'm impressed."

Nessiah gave him a shaky smile, still clutching his hand and arm tightly. "I've—been doing this for a very long time. …Magic is part of what I am. It's just—like—" Here he shivered, and leaned a little towards Gulcasa, who put his free arm back around his shoulders. "…have you ever been sick, very sick, with a head cold or some such thing… so much so that you almost can't breathe, but there's still a smell nearby that's so strong you pick it up anyway, and it's disorienting and it makes you feel awful?"

Gulcasa nodded, remembered that Nessiah wouldn't be able to see that, and then said, "Yes, I suppose—so you're saying that's what it's like now, and that's why you're feeling ill?"

Nessiah took a measured breath, shuddered, and then curled up tightly, clutching around his belly. "…ugh…"

Habit had Gulcasa leaning in closer, rubbing comforting circles across Nessiah's shoulders. "Easy, easy… just take it easy. Give yourself a second to adjust so you won't be sick." He sat silently for a moment, listening to the mage's ragged breathing, then spoke again. "It'll probably make you feel at least a little better to know that the light's been getting brighter. I think we made the right choice, deciding to go this way—it definitely leads to some kind of exit. We'll be out of here soon. You won't have to bear this for too much longer."

"…" Nessiah stayed curled up for a few more moments, then relaxed, lying back against the tunnel wall again. When he turned towards Gulcasa, his face was once again streaked with blood and tears. "…thank you."

You couldn't just look at that, at the way Nessiah was trying so hard to be strong, without it hurting. "You don't have to thank me for anything," Gulcasa said, reaching out impulsively to stroke the blind mage's short tumble of blond hair. "This is just what people do for each other, Nessiah. Anyone else in my position would've done the same."

Nessiah smiled again, and this time the expression was bitter. "No—you're wrong about that. Most people wouldn't have done a thing to help me; they'd have considered me dead weight and gone along on their own, looked out for their own interests. I don't just say that out of cynicism, Gulcasa—it's happened to me, happened to others I've known, time and time again. You're a man of unusual kindness, and a rather sweet but sadly naïve faith in the goodness of humanity. You have real conviction in your ideals, and you follow them resolutely. To extend that kindness to someone you know almost nothing about—it takes a great heart to do so, and for that I am grateful, whether you'd like me to be or not."

"…Nessiah…"

As Gulcasa watched, saddened and touched and wondering just a little what kind of life his companion had led, Nessiah raised his right hand, reaching for a moment with the metal of his chains chiming softly before he touched Gulcasa's chest, ran his pale fingers down the leather of his breastplate until they settled right over his heart. "…believe me when I tell you that out of all the people I've known, you're one of the very few I've ever been able to trust. It's hard for me, but…" His voice wavered a bit here, and Gulcasa could _hear _that sob forced back and felt his chest tighten painfully. "But I _do _trust you. You're…" A new thread of blood traced down Nessiah's cheek, and he pulled back with a soft pained sound, pressing his hand to the interconnected metal plates covering his face.

"Are you alright?"

"—my eyes hurt a little. My own fault, for carrying on like this…"

"You _have _bled a lot…" Gulcasa fidgeted a little, feeling awkward, then reached for the field kit at his belt. "Here. Let me see, and maybe we can get you fixed up."

However, when he lightly set a hand to the seam where Nessiah's faceplate could be partially removed, Nessiah reached up and covered it with fingers that trembled, stopping Gulcasa from taking it off.

"Please don't."

Gulcasa made a face. "You're hurting, and you're _bleeding," _he pointed out matter-of-factly. "I have bandages, and gauze. Until you can get looked at by someone who knows what they're doing, I can at least tape you up so you don't lose so much blood you faint."

_"Please." _Now Nessiah's voice was shaking too. "You don't want to see this."

"I've seen plenty of ugly wounds out on the battlefield," Gulcasa reminded him. "It would take a lot to put me off. And you _need _to be cared for. You certainly can't do it by yourself, or I'd let you. I'm sorry, but I'm obligated to see you through this sane, conscious, and as uninjured as possible." Gently pushing Nessiah's hand away, Gulcasa lightly pressed the seam until it gave.

He'd seen the scars the faceplate covered before, back when he'd first found Nessiah and had been present for some of his treatment by the castle doctors and healers. He'd stared, feeling his stomach turn at the cruelty of the old wounds, at the way they'd clearly healed sloppily, and wondered how it was possible for someone to do something like that to a person.

Still, that was _nothing _compared to how those scars were now.

"Oh, God."

"…I told you _not _to look," Nessiah told him in a voice that was meant to be firm but cracked tearfully halfway through.

_"Fuck, _Nessiah. This is…" Gulcasa just shook his head, unable to find words.

The intricate lacework of scar tissue ran heavily over Nessiah's face, shaping the swirls of thin cuts and scratches that could've been made by blade or nails and the thick, heavy stripes where something far blunter, something hot, had slashed viciously back and forth over his eyes, tearing and melting through flesh. The largest of these marks trailed all the way up to Nessiah's forehead, spilling over onto his cheeks where scars gave way to shiny burn marks where the heat of the blood or solder had scorched his fair skin. The scars cut through brows that were arced painfully in, and sealed his eyelids shut, though tears clung along the broken lines of white-blond lashes.

The scars and the skin directly surrounding them were puffy and swollen—irritated by Nessiah's tears, maybe?—and the scars themselves burned hot red, actively seeping blood.

_"Fuck," _Gulcasa repeated weakly. "Nessiah, this is horrible. This is—this is _inhumane, _this is… shit, I don't care _what _the circumstances were, no one deserves this. No one. God."

"I _told _you—" The words were a desperate sob.

"Hush." And because Nessiah wouldn't have listened otherwise, Gulcasa laid his fingertips to his lips to silence him. "I don't know how much I can do, but you're losing _way_ too much blood. Here…"

And as much to stop himself thinking how slowly and deliberately those wounds must have been made—how it must have been for _Nessiah _to have his eyes torn through like that—as to try to stop that bleeding, Gulcasa picked up soft gauze pads with one hand as he held Nessiah's hair back with the other, then placed them over Nessiah's ruined eyes. "Hold these," he instructed as he picked up a second round of gauze, put it in place, then wrapped linen over it as quickly as he could, trying to make it only just tight enough to hold as he tied the bandages awkwardly at the nape of Nessiah's neck. "—it'll probably bleed through in a few hours, but it's the best I can do for now. Hopefully, we'll get back to the others soon enough that someone who knows what they're doing can take a look at this. What you really need is a healer, but…"

With a helpless shrug, he snapped the faceplate back into place.

Then he pulled Nessiah to his chest and held him hard.

"Gulcasa—?!" Nessiah went rigid, tried to pull away, but Gulcasa wouldn't let him.

"Just stay still for a minute. The world is not going to end if you lean on me for just that long, you know." Gulcasa closed his eyes and leaned in, burying his face in Nessiah's hair. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry—for what?" Nessiah sounded half-wary, half-perplexed, and still would not relax. His hands came up to Gulcasa's chest as if to try to push away, but he didn't.

"Sorry this world has been so cruel to you. Sorry there's not much more I can do for you. Nessiah, I…" Gulcasa paused a moment to find the right words, the words that would make this count, the words that would make this matter. "I promise that as long as you are in my care, I will do whatever is in my power to help you. I will never hurt you. I will never abandon you. There's still so much I don't know, and so much you can't say, but—I'll look after you. You deserve so much more than you've been given, Nessiah…"

All the iron went out of Nessiah's shoulders at those words, and he slumped into the curve of Gulcasa's body with a sound like a half-muffled sob. Gulcasa didn't say anything, just held him close and acted like he was ignoring the little mage's tears.

To be honest, he didn't understand what it was about Nessiah that so inspired that powerful protective urge that ran so strongly in Brongaa's blood. All he really knew was that Nessiah's helplessness and his courage made him want to fling himself between his charge and the rest of the world in a very similar fashion to the way he did (or tried to) with his sisters.

And he'd given his oath. He would protect this fragile exile in his arms for as long as he possibly could.

Once Nessiah lay silent and unresisting against him, Gulcasa carefully scooped him up again, standing and continuing to walk onward.

"What are you—?!" Nessiah demanded, trying to fidget. "I can walk by myself…!"

"You need to rest awhile, and we don't have time to just sit here. The sooner we get you out of here, the better. I'll let you down to walk on your own later; right now just be quiet and save your strength. I'm obliged to take care of you, Nessiah, and so I'm not giving you a choice."

---

Nessiah lay curled in Gulcasa's arms with his head against the young emperor's shoulder, loosely clutching at the chain mail in the gaps between the separate pieces of his leather armor. Usually he hated moments of weakness that put him in a helpless position around others—really, it was just _begging _to be taken advantage of—but at least right now, the faults of his flawed body didn't seem to matter.

Just for this moment, he'd give in to Gulcasa's order and let himself be cradled in those strong arms, wonder at the care the young man was taking to avoid jostling him, curl into the warmth of another living creature like he hadn't been able to bring himself to do since his childhood in Asgard.

All those promises, all of Gulcasa's sweet vows—they'd be broken someday, broken by Nessiah's own quest for vengeance, his true agenda. Even if he wasn't forced to outright betray Bronquia, he'd still have to turn his back on the country that had taken him in so openly once he had the Gran Centurio back. He would _not _get them involved in his war. Between his artifact—once it had enough power to slay the divine—and these very chains that made his life so hellish, he would take on all the heavenly host himself, and he would win. And only after that would he be able to break the Chains of Conviction at last, and be free to live and die as he chose.

But then things would be broken between him and these people, anyway.

The knowledge hurt, even as Gulcasa's kindness made his chest feel unusually warm. In that moment, Nessiah just sighed and wished that this—all of this, his time in Bronquia, his time with Gulcasa—could last forever.

It couldn't, because the nature of life was to constantly change, and yet…

Before he could finish the thought, he suddenly took notice of the warm tickle at the back of his mind, a delicate touch of familiarity that soothed everything that remained of his panic and self-hatred away.

"Gulcasa…"

The emperor didn't answer, probably focusing on the path ahead too much to take any real notice. Nessiah sighed, ran his hand up Gulcasa's shoulder until he found a fistful of his long, silky hair, and tugged it insistently.

_"Gulcasa."_

"Ow! _What?"_ He sounded sulky, offended. Cute. It almost had Nessiah smiling.

"You weren't listening," he said pointedly. "Gulcasa, you can put me down now."

"It hasn't been very long…" Gulcasa's voice was doubtful, scolding.

"I know, but we're getting closer to the way out, I can feel it. You were right. The dampening spells are getting weaker, and I can almost get at my magic again. Once we're close enough, I'll be able to put my sight spells back in place, even though that's all the magic I'll be able to use until we're outside."

"Really? Well, damn." To Nessiah's surprise, Gulcasa didn't set him down right away, but briefly hugged him closer instead. "That _is _good. Here…" And then there was solid ground beneath his feet again. Nessiah stumbled briefly, but Gulcasa caught him, held him steady as he stood straight, fighting to reorient himself. "You know… I've still got you, until you tell me you're alright on your own."

That warm feeling flooded Nessiah's chest again, and pain seared his eyes as he struggled to hold back tears of gratitude. When Gulcasa slipped a hand into his, he squeezed it tightly, smiling a little. "…Thank you."

"Heh…" Gulcasa didn't make any comment beyond that, but Nessiah imagined he'd probably shaken his head. Such a naïve child. He'd never believe how kind he was really being, but then, it would be a sad thing if he ever _did _really come to understand. "Anyway, let's go."

As they walked forward—how had it become so _easy, _Nessiah wondered idly, to blindly follow along wherever this man led?—he constantly monitored the faint trickle of magic that was returning to him as the dampening spells began to lessen. With each step, he carefully built his power, until finally—_finally—_he whispered the incantation under his breath and watched color bloom in his mind.

It was _dark. _Everything was hazed over in deep gray, with bright, bright light just ahead. Nessiah wanted to blink, wanted to tear up, to help his eyes adjust, but instead he forced himself to tamp down on the spell, make minute adjustments until it was at a point he could bear.

Once he was fairly sure in the spell—and feeling more drained by the effort than he'd ever been—Nessiah turned and looked up at Gulcasa.

The young emperor was focused intently on the road ahead, his hair disheveled, a fine sweat glossing over his skin, and blotches of blood and wet on his armor from where Nessiah had been leaning on him. At first he didn't seem to notice he was being stared at, then he turned to glance down at Nessiah with surprise dawning in those golden eyes.

Then he broke out in a crooked smile. "Hey," he said softly. "Welcome back."

Nessiah smiled back up at him, feeling that warmth in his chest burn his face. He wouldn't realize until later that he'd been blushing.

As he felt Gulcasa's hand start to slip out of his, though, Nessiah squeezed it selfishly, refusing to allow him to let go.

It surprised Gulcasa—and made him laugh, too. "Suit yourself," he said with a shake of his head and a wry smile.

Well. Nessiah would do just that.

Either it was his intent on Gulcasa's touch or the fact that the sight spell was taking every drop of magic he had that was at fault—but whichever way it was, Nessiah didn't realize until it was too late, until he'd spotted the man silhouetted in the mouth of the cave, that they had just walked straight into a trap.

The next moment, Gulcasa had shoved him roughly out of the way, standing protectively in front of him. "I'll handle this," he growled, glaring at their opponent.

"Gulcasa—"

"I _said _I'd handle it. Just be quiet and stay where it's safe."

There was nothing else he could do, Nessiah realized suddenly, bitterly. Without his magic, he couldn't fight at all, and so Gulcasa…

He'd be damned if he'd just stand here and let the man who'd just given him so much go off and fight on his own, but—what was there that he could do—?

:TBC:


	5. Within the Darkness

Painting the Silence

See disclaimer in part one

Ever since Gulcasa had been a kid, he'd been taught that as a member of Brongaa's clan and a Bronquian, he had two major enemies in life: Fantasinians, and the northern tribes. While the citizens of Bronquia were all either members of Brongaa's blood kin or supporters of the ancient dragon's people, the tribesmen were the descendants of dragonslayers and various bandit groups that past emperors had driven out of the country. The blood feud between their peoples was old, and was as bitter as it was deep: The tribes hid in the mountains where it was guaranteed that even in all-out warfare, it was next to impossible for them all to be wiped out, and the fortresses along the mountain borders—fortresses either occupied by Fantasinian troops or completely abandoned, nowadays—had always assured that the tribesmen couldn't enter Bronquia proper.

Aside from the bloody stalemate, during their ancient conflicts, the tribes had killed one of Gulcasa's distant ancestors and stolen the Crown of Thorns. Which was, of course, why they were here in the first place…

The ancient hate had been so ingrained in Gulcasa that he recognized the man blocking the way as a tribal shaman instantly. The man wore ragged, dye-stained robes and greasy-looking animal pelts, with his chin-length black hair a mess of tiny braids. He carried a crooked staff in one hand, and held a myriad clutter of pouches, feathers, and tiny animal bones in the other.

The highborn in Gulcasa had him wanting to scoff and look down at his nose at the shaman's crudeness; the side of him with common sense instantly quashed that urge with a sharp reminder that Gulcasa himself had been born in squalor and spent his entire childhood hiding in Flarewerk's slums to avoid notice, and then pointed out that as this shaman and his cohorts (he had to have some, somewhere) had led him and Nessiah into this trap, the man had to have a relatively good grasp on tactics.

"So, you decided to venture through my maze on your own?" the shaman asked, leering into the darkness at the two of them. "You two certainly have balls, I'll give you that much…" His voice had a strange accent to it, one Gulcasa had only begun to become familiar with. The tribes all spoke Common well enough, but they had their own languages they used to converse with each other, and those tongues influenced their speech.

"…Gulcasa…" He felt Nessiah's small hands at his back, clutching his hair, his cloak, and the chain mail underneath.

"Just stay put," Gulcasa repeated, that fierce protective urge roaring to life again. "I know there's nothing you can do right now. Stay where it's safe, and I'll take care of it."

"But—"

"Do as you're told for now." It was an order, and to anyone else, it would've been harsh, but Gulcasa made an effort to soften the edge of his words as he gently pushed Nessiah a few steps further back. "Now—_you." _Glowering at the shaman, Gulcasa loosed his scythe from the straps that had held it at his back. "I gather you and your friends've been watching us for a while, if you planned to lure us into something like this. A cave with dampening spells on it's just too convenient for it to've been lying around for random passersby to wander into."

"That's nothing you have to worry about, child of the accursed one. You fell for the trap yourself—and now you'll die here, the way all those of your blood should have been eradicated long ago!"

"…Tch…" Gulcasa glared and shifted his hands along the pole of his scythe even as something in his chest went cold. _Emilia… God as my witness, you'd just better be safe… _"We'll just have to see about that, now won't we?"

The truth was that he was acting a lot more confident than he actually felt. Scythes were not meant for combat at close quarters, and his had been forged to be wielded from dragonback. There wasn't nearly enough room in a little tunnel like this for him to get in a good swing. Of course, his hand-to-hand fighting was nothing to sneeze at, and he _had _been trained to compensate for a squeeze here or there, but…

The shaman raised his staff and began to chant. Gulcasa, realizing that it was now or never, dashed forward in a low-to-the-ground sprint, holding his scythe as far forward as he dared, and swept it low at the man's legs.

The shaman laughed and threw a fistful of blue sparks to deflect Gulcasa's strike.

Before much more than a few of those sparks could crawl up the pole of his scythe, Gulcasa jumped back, not liking the look of that live lightning at all.

Damn it. He could probably power past the shaman if he had to, get to open space, but—

Gulcasa glanced briefly back at where Nessiah was standing stricken, watching the battle with sightless eyes, trembling hands, and a shaky wellspring of trust that Gulcasa wouldn't, _couldn't _betray.

He had someone to protect. He couldn't abandon Nessiah in order to get an advantage in combat; what kind of Emperor would that make him? What kind of ally?

What kind of _friend?_

Swearing under his breath, Gulcasa brushed back up against the cave wall, then lunged.

---

Tormented, Nessiah watched the battle unfold before him.

Gulcasa was at a distinct disadvantage without the open range he needed to really use that scythe. And every time he drew in close, the shaman would throw a low-power spell at him and make him jump back. He couldn't score a hit, and if he wasn't fast, sooner or later he'd slip up and the shaman would be able to get off something of real power. This battle couldn't be won with force, unless Gulcasa found some way to take it outside. And Nessiah knew from the look on the shaman's face that that was exactly what he'd set this up to keep from happening.

Damn it. This battle could only be won with _magic, _but Nessiah's sight spells were draining every drop he had to spare—

_Oh._

Nessiah felt his insides clutch and go cold, felt the sweat start to stand out on his hands. No. No. He couldn't. He _couldn't. _He'd never be able to just—the memories were there waiting for him in the darkness, and he couldn't give himself up to them again, he couldn't, _couldn't—_

If he did, he wouldn't be able to stay _sane—_

But there was Gulcasa, fighting so _hard, _knowing that he didn't have a chance, but _still—_

If he just stood here and did nothing, Gulcasa would die. Because that poor child had sworn to protect him.

Nausea ripped through Nessiah's belly and panic pounded at his chest, but he pulled the Revelation of the Gods out from where it was hidden in his robes, fumbling with the clasp as he tried to get it open. If he concentrated, if he focused hard enough on Gulcasa, flipped the pages carefully, he'd be able to keep those horrific images at bay, keep the sizzle of metal and the sickening scent of hot solder and burnt blood repressed, as they were supposed to be—

Shaking so hard his chains had started to chime, Nessiah made his way to the back of the book, where a deck of copies of every Tactics Card he'd ever made lay folded into a thin compartment in the spellbook's back cover.

He needed an attack card, a powerful one. Reincarnation wouldn't work; he wouldn't be able to call any lost souls in a place like this and _besides, _he didn't have enough magic to call upon his other self at a time like this anyway.

Damn it. _Damn _it.

Finally, his trembling fingers settled on a familiar card, flipped it over—Gravity Chaos. Aymia's legacy. He'd encoded a special second spell into it, one that only he could use—and if the Gravity Chaos spell itself wasn't powerful enough, then _that _Skill would be able—

If not now, then never.

Nessiah bit his lip, folded the card into his hand, and clutched the Revelation to his chest.

"Gulcasa—!"

The flash of gold through the darkness told him he'd caught Gulcasa's attention.

"Gulcasa, do you trust me?!"

_"What?" _Gulcasa _stared _at him over his shoulder. "What the hell kind of question is that? We're in this together, aren't we?"

"Then listen!" Oh, damn it, his voice was cracking again. "I have faith in you, alright?! Please Asgard and Utgard that I can do this right—please just get out of there as soon as you see I'm ready!"

"What are you…?" Gulcasa's eyes went wide as he seemed to notice the Revelation and the card clutched tightly in Nessiah's hand. "No—you can't mean you're going to—?!"

"I trust you," Nessiah repeated.

He drew in a deep breath, fought back the abject panic already pounding at the edges of his mind… and snapped his tie on the spells that kept the trauma of blindness at bay.

_Please…!_

Darkness.

Terror.

"Nessiah?!"

Gulcasa's voice. There. _Hold on to it. Hold on, damn it!_

The torrent of magic, swirling back into his soul. Reflex had Nessiah almost fixing those spells in place, but he cut himself off at the last second.

_Aymia, for the sake of the mercy we should've been given, help me…_

"O sundered kindred, wrongfully condemned…" In the incantation, at least, his voice found strength. Even without sight, the magic welled up in him, bright and sure. "The heavens and the earth shall taste thy pain…"

Running footsteps, and the slide of worn boots on grit and stone. Right past him. Behind him. _Gulcasa…_

Sharply hearing the flutter of the Revelation's pages, feeling the power in Aymia's card blaze under his fingers, Nessiah rose up, his back _searing _with the phantom urge to spread his wings and pull into the air, and held his hand high.

"Shed thy tears and smite mine enemy with thine retribution!"

The magic _burned._

Nessiah brought his hand down in a dramatic sweep, and heard the stone shatter, heard the shaman's stunned cry, as sweet exultation in the magic surged through his body like relief.

And then exhaustion, as the power didn't pool back quickly enough.

"Nessiah…?"

He couldn't see, but he _felt _the world sway.

_"Nessiah!"_

And then there was nothing but blackness.

---

_As the scream shattered his voice, he felt what was left of his mind starting to crack._

_"Confess to your crimes for the gods' mercy, bastard traitor!"_

Oh gods, oh please. No more. No more. Please no more, please just stop, stop. _Every bone in his body felt shattered, his beautiful wings splintered, a bloody ruin that would never fully heal, no matter what kind of healing potion they gave him. His blood and his tears congealed with the messy tatters of black and white feathers on the floor._

_Another bite of the lash, burning hot, against his torn back. He tried to curl inward with a wail, but was cut back by the chains they'd wrapped tightly around his body—hung naked and vulnerable and broken and shattering and surrounded by soldiers. Everywhere, soldiers, cruel and cold and glaring at him._

"Nessiah!"

_"Please—" it came out as little more than a moan "you have to believe me, I didn't do anything, I didn't—I didn't—"_

_"Save your excuses!" One of the soldiers lunged forward, pulled tightly on the chains as his sight blurred with terrified tears. "You've killed too many of our men for that to work! If you're as innocent as you say, then why try to run? Why try to fight?"_

_Why. Always why. The memories clouded, spun. The Gran Centurio—where was his precious Gran Centurio? He'd tried to escape with it, but they'd given chase, those men he'd thought to be another of Hector's cruel games—and in his panic, once they'd cornered him, he'd been forced to stain his beautiful blade black with their blood—_

_Why? Why? He was so tired. So tired of it all. Please. Just for the pain to end._

"Nessiah, can you hear me?! Snap out of it!"

_People. All these people. Too many people. Gods. Gods. He never wanted to be near people again. Never wanted to be touched again. It hurt. Stop it, Hector. Stop it. It hurts too much, please just—_

_"He's had his chance. Judgment will be passed on you, and it will befit your crimes, you murderer. High treason demands sundering—sundering, and death!"_

_Oh gods. Oh gods, no. Please. No. Please. Please._

_The chains tightened around the ruins of his wings._

_Pain. Pain. Gods. No. Please. Please. Please. Stop. Please._

_He only realized he'd been screaming when he had to break off to sob desperately from the pain, try to fight back sickness at seeing his own severed wing on the floor of the torture chambers next to him, its tip twitching slightly._

_Gods. Please. No. Please. Why? Why? Why?_

_"Take a good look," said the soldier nearest him, raising a blunted blade that he'd held in the fire for almost a minute straight. Nessiah stared at it in sick fascination as the man raised it, held it close to his face, waved it back and forth so he could smell the bright orange half-melted metal. "After all…" That other mailed fist suddenly reached up, tightened on his hair, jerking his face up. "It's the last thing you're ever going to see."_

_No—no—please, no—please—gods—please—_

---

_"Nessiah!"_

Gulcasa's voice. Again. It pulled him out of the memory just as the hot sword swung, and he jerked up with something between a scream and an outright _wail, _his voice shattering.

Not even consciously, the sight spells whipped back into place. For the sake of his sanity, if nothing else. He couldn't take another second of darkness.

Nessiah caught the briefest glimpse of wide, worried golden eyes before he was swept into those warm, protective arms. He shivered for a moment, then clung close, unable to stifle the bitter tears that would wash those ugly memories away, if there was any mercy in the world.

"What happened to me?" he managed, his voice blunted and broken and muffled against Gulcasa's breastplate.

Gulcasa squeezed him a little tighter, then eased back to let him breathe. "You just—_fell. _About two seconds after that crazy stunt you pulled, I think. You barely even wobbled first. I thought you'd fainted, but you were screaming. All through that, just screaming as loud as you could in some language I couldn't even hope to understand. Nessiah… you were remembering, weren't—"

_Hector's cruel hands, his laughter. His mind, shattering. Running, clutching the Revelation to his heart and pulling the Gran Centurio after him. Pain, fear, and confusion, and horror, and a sword so hot it was dripping— _Nessiah moaned, curling up close into Gulcasa's chest. "Please. Please don't."

"Alright." They sat like that for another minute or so. "Nessiah—I don't know how you got the courage to do that, but thank you. You probably saved my life back there."

"So it's—over." Nessiah let himself half-sigh. He was cold, but it smelled like something was burning in here for some reason.

"It certainly is." Gulcasa punctuated the remark with a wry laugh. "You torched the entire cave from here on out, and I don't think there's anything ahead of us that's left other than stone and—"

_Oh, shit. Shit. Shit. _That burned scent wrenched up the memories, twisted Nessiah's stomach. "Ah—"

Panicked and sick and shaky, he pulled himself up, managed to drag himself to just outside the cave, onto the open mountain. Stumbled over uneven rocks, hauled himself upright. And hunched over, and violently threw up.

---

Gulcasa was there just a few seconds later, his chest twisting with pity. Very gently, he slipped in behind Nessiah, putting his right arm supportively around the mage's waist and pulling his hair back from his face with his left. "It's okay. It's okay, it's okay." As he soothed, as he held Nessiah steady, he felt his friend's small hand clutch desperately at his forearm.

Nessiah heaved at least three more times on nothing, choked, coughed, and slumped into Gulcasa's arms with a whimper. Knowing he wouldn't have the strength, Gulcasa bent down a little to scoop Nessiah up, carrying him further down the path to a place where they could sit and rest.

"I'm sorry," Nessiah managed, still shaking, sounding very out of it.

"Don't be." Gulcasa stroked his hair back with one hand, gently wiping his face clean with the back of his other. "I have sisters. I'm used to this kind of thing. Don't worry about anything. Just sit and breathe. It'll do you good."

Nessiah lay silently against the mountain and Gulcasa's side, his narrow chest heaving. "Air," he eventually said wearily, "is quite possibly the best thing the gods came up with when they created this world."

Gulcasa couldn't quite bite back a laugh. "Can't say I disagree with you. You probably shouldn't stand or walk, and I'm not certain you should be moved, but we don't have any time to waste. We have to get back to the others, get you looked at. You're a mess. You're drained almost completely of strength, you're bleeding everywhere, and you'll probably be sick for a while yet. I think I've got my bearings—can't really get lost on a mountain as long as you know which way the moss grows—and I'm fairly sure I know where we are in relation to the others. We've got to get back to them. I'll carry you."

"Hn," was all Nessiah said.

Taking that as agreement, Gulcasa very gently picked him up again, giving him a light hug and then surrendering to the persistent urge and planting a brotherly kiss on the top of Nessiah's head. "You just hang in there a little longer, alright? I've got you. I won't let anything happen to you. Just go to sleep, get your rest. Poor thing."

"…thank you," Nessiah said, resting his head on Gulcasa's shoulder. (Was he _blushing, _or was he starting to run a fever?) "I trust you."

And out he went, like a snuffed candle.

Gulcasa just shook his head and smiled. "Well, aren't you contrary. At least you know when it's a good idea to take someone's advice, don't you?"

No answer from Nessiah other than the soft sound of his breathing.

Gulcasa hitched him up slightly, resettled his weight, and then began to pick his way around the mountain trail. They did, after all, have quite a ways to go yet.

:to be concluded:


	6. Epilogue

Painting the Silence

See disclaimer in part one

Epilogue

The Imperial Army's small offensive force had kept its station there on the mountain for two days after the battle, alternately sending scouts up and down the trail, fending off new attackers, and trying fruitlessly to break through the door of solid stone that sealed the cave in the mountain's side shut. And even though it was true that some of those who watched and waited were beginning to despair, it was also true that nothing would budge them. They'd seen their Emperor go in, and until he came out or they found a way to get through to him, they wouldn't just leave and abandon him.

Despite the bloodstains and the grim looks on the soldiers' faces and the thinness of the fires that had been set, the waiting camp was a welcome sight to their wayward leader.

Aegina caught sight of him first as he came over the rise, stared for a moment, and then took off running, drawing the attention of the entire camp. Then the rest of them were up in a clamor, alerting their resting comrades, getting up and standing at attention or following Aegina to greet him.

"Gulcasa-nii! Are you alright?! You aren't hurt, are you? How did you get out of there? Are you—?"

"Slow down," Gulcasa managed, shaking his head. "And stand at ease. Unless you all relax, politeness says I have to keep standing, and I'm too tired for that…"

There were deep shadows under his eyes and a few new scratches on his dusty and increasingly battered leather armor, but other than that he seemed to be unharmed. In his arms, he cradled Nessiah—apparently unconscious, with bandages showing beneath his faceplate and blood streaked across his cheeks—closely to his chest.

"Before we start discussing anything, I need our field healers over here," Gulcasa said as Aegina and the others escorted him into the heart of the camp. "Nessiah's lost a lot of blood, and he's had a hard time of the past few days—do whatever you can for him."

When their company's few doctors and healers ventured through the crowd and Gulcasa had given Nessiah into their care, Luciana folded her arms and scowled at him. _"Now _will you let us know what the hell happened to you and why it's taken you so long to get back here?"

"In a minute. Is everyone alright?" Sitting down on a nearby boulder, Gulcasa looked around, surveying their ranks. "It doesn't seem as though we've lost anyone, but I can tell there's been a fight here… they attacked as soon as we set off that trap, didn't they?"

Aegina nodded. "It took a while, but we fought off the assault. There were injuries, but none of ours were killed. There've been a few other attacks since then, but nothing serious."

"And you two and Emilia? You're alright?" As the twins nodded, Gulcasa sighed, visibly relieved. "I was worried. We tangled with a shaman on the other side of that tunnel, and he made a few choice remarks about extinguishing my bloodline… if anything had happened to you, I don't know what I would've done."

"So, spill," Luciana ordered, folding her arms and fixing him with a glare. "It can't just have been your horrible sense of direction that's taken you this long."

Gulcasa gave her a halfhearted glower, then shook his head. "The tunnel we took leads straight through to the other side of the mountain. When we got out, I tried to take as fast a route as I could back to this place, but there were tribal patrols all over the place. We had to duck for cover a lot—I don't think I could've handled them all alone."

"Wasn't _he _of any help to you?" Luciana demanded, shrugging a shoulder off in Nessiah's general direction.

"I will not have another word against him again," Gulcasa snapped, his eyes flashing. "If it weren't for Nessiah, I would never have made it back here. He saved my life, at considerable risk to his own sanity. The shaman I told you about blocked our way out of the tunnel, so that I had to try to fight him in a space so small you couldn't've swung so much as a sword, let alone a scythe—and there were dampening spells all over the cave that kept Nessiah from using any magic. There at the entrance, he was able to use enough magic to see, but in the end he gave up his sight spells in order to kill the shaman. He's been in very bad condition these past days—mostly unconscious, and almost always delirious when he was awake. If not for him, I wouldn't be here talking to you, so I don't want to hear your complaining ever again."

"He—really saved you?" Aegina asked, taken aback.

Gulcasa nodded. "Nessiah… isn't like us. He's not used to people, to being around them or being able to put his faith in them; it took a lot of courage for him to trust that I would get him out of there. We talked about some things when we were in there… and I understand him well enough now to know that he hasn't stayed apart from us all this time out of disdain, but because he's afraid of being hurt. We have to try a little harder with him… it's going to take a while to close the distance between us. But…"

Luciana and Aegina exchanged bewildered glances, then turned back towards Gulcasa, staring at him almost worriedly.

Gulcasa shook his head. "…Anyway, where's Emilia? I want to wait until Nessiah's awake and well enough to be moved before we head on, and since that may be a while, I'd like to talk to her."

"She's sleeping, but she'll definitely want to hear that you're back," Aegina told him. "…Come with us."

---

The first thing that Nessiah was consciously aware of was the pressure of someone else's hands holding one of his. Then came the darkness; he'd had more than enough of that, so with his next breath he fixed his sight spells back in place.

"…nnh…"

"Nessiah…?"

His head was spinning. He lay still for another moment or two, making sure it was clear, then turned to see that Gulcasa was sitting next to him, Nessiah's right hand clasped tight between both of his, held to his chest. His golden eyes were wide with surprise and—was that hope or worry or relief, or a combination of the three?

"Nessiah, are you awake?"

"…Gulcasa…"

He tried to push himself up, but Gulcasa reached out to touch his shoulder, keeping him down. "Just lie still for a while. You've been out for what amounts to two and a half days, and the field healers tell me you've a while yet before you're completely over the blood loss."

"What… happened?"

"We're back at the camp," Gulcasa told him. That was _definitely _relief there now; Gulcasa's eyes seemed so soft a gold that Nessiah almost had to wonder if he was holding back tears. "The trip back took a while, and you were doing badly the whole time. It's definitely a weight off my chest to know you'll be alright; I was starting to worry that casting against that shaman in your condition was too much for you."

Somehow, Nessiah managed a smile. "I've been through far worse, believe me. This is nothing."

"Idiot." Gulcasa reached out to lightly rap Nessiah's forehead with his knuckles. "Don't just pass this off as no big deal. I was worried about you. I owe you my life, and I promised I'd take care of you. If we'd lost you…" He let the sentence hang, looking away.

Nessiah felt his face heat up, and he weakly reached out to rest his hand on Gulcasa's arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I never wanted to worry you."

"…" Gulcasa shook his head. "At any rate, try to get some rest. Once you're feeling better, we're moving on—we've still got that crown to find. And…" Nessiah found himself being given the same cool, no-nonsense glare Gulcasa used whenever he was scolding his sisters or his soldiers, the glare that said nothing would change his mind. "I don't want you hiking on your own, not when you haven't even recovered from that bandit attack completely yet. You're riding with me."

"Wha—" Ride? As in, on Gulcasa's dragon? _What? _"I can—"

"You can't. I watched you lag behind the rest of us and saw you collapse whenever we stopped for a break all the way up here, and I wasn't sure how to get you to stop it then, but I do now. You're riding with me, and make no mistake, that is an order, not a suggestion."

With frustration and embarrassment, the blush already covering his face deepened. "I can walk on my own, Gulcasa. I've—"

"Been through worse, I know." Gulcasa raised his eyebrows. "And I don't give a damn. You're riding with me, the end. If you try to get out of it, I will have you declared insubordinate, and we can tie you to the saddle. Either way, you're not walking, so I don't care whether you go the dignified way or not."

"Ngh." Well, that was something that could be said for Gulcasa, he supposed. Around the idealistic Emperor of Bronquia, chivalry was alive and well. Even when it would've been much more convenient—not to mention healthier for his pride—for it to be dead.

"Glad you understand." And then Gulcasa shook his head and smiled. "I'm doing this because I'm worried about you, stupid. I do not _ever _want to see you in the state you've been in these past days again, and whether you like it or not, I'm making good on my promise to take care of you."

"Th-that's not fair." Crimson with humiliation, his chest fluttering, Nessiah covered his face with both hands.

"What isn't?"

"What you're doing. …Excusing yourself by caring." He tried not to shake, and failed. "I can't say no to that."

Gulcasa just laughed.

"You fought through the darkness, and you risked death and worse to save me. You've clawed your way back up from all kinds of sickness; surely a free ride ought to be considered a fair reward instead of some kind of punishment. When life hands you a favor, learn to take it, Nessiah."

And although he didn't voice them, the words were there, ready to be said.

_Stupid. I was only able to do that because you were there the whole time, holding my hand._

**Owari.**


End file.
